The New Lucy Q
by nietzsche300
Summary: Transformed from 'Lucy Caboosey' to Quinn Fabray on the outside, Quinn tries to manage what she feels on the inside while also trying to rise to the top. There's only one problem, and her name is Santana Lopez. QUINTANA.
1. Chapter 1

Alright. After a shitty summer, and a busy ass start to the new school year I've decided to do something drastic: ditch all my other stories and turn one of my current ones into a different fic with a different coupling, and in a different person. I feel that this pairing is one that deserves better exploration after noticing that there aren't many deep in detailed, complex Quintana fics on the M rated level. Or any level really. So, enjoy! And for those who were reading With New Arrivals (the once Brittana fic) and enjoyed the 'friendship' between Quinn and Santana – this fic will be the story of how imagine it all started.

Chapter One (Introduction): Stumbling On In at Summer's End

We drunkenly stumble into my room, skipping the usual late night swim since there's only an hour or so before sunrise. It's later than usual and we're pushing it as we giggle and bump into things. Santana bumps into my dresser for about the third time before I finally reach my bedside lamp and once I do I realize that she's trying to use the dresser for stability, but her slight sway keeps making her stumble in place. A sign that she's drunker than usual.

I begin to unzip my dress and notice she's not the only one that's swaying and stumbling but I manage. Once I'm just in my underwear, a matching dark blue panties and bra to go with my now discarded dress, I make it over to my dresser where Santana has decided to post up and lean.

"You're seriously messed up," I say with a grin as I bend over beside her to open a drawer. Seeing that I opened the wrong one, I can't help but laugh a scratchy laugh as I close it and reach for another one. She laughs too but says nothing and I glance up at her, noting that she's watching me. Her gaze isn't one of intensity, but a lazy smile. "At least I'm not too drunk to stand on my own." I quip.

She pushes herself off the dresser in one quick motion, lifting her hands in mock surrender. "Who says I can't?" she asks before her legs give out.

I grab her around the waste as she laughs quietly, a smokey rasp at its edges. Stifling my own laughter, I help her put an arm around my shoulder and walk her over to my bed. Despite my family's social status I still have my old full sized bed, unlike Santana who wanted the king and was stuck with the queen at her place. But we've done this many times already, so I doubt she will bitch about me needing "a big girl's bed". I help her sit on her usual side and watch her fall back dramatically, her arms spread wide.

Once I see she's settled I walk back over to my dresser and pull out a white muscle shirt, taking off my bra and pulling the thin material over my head quickly as I start to feel the slight morning chill. It's always coldest just before sunrise and the alcohol levels in _my parents'_ blood leads them to keep the heat very low. Like, non-existent low. Especially since it was summer time.

"Do you want a change of clothes?" I ask only to receive a small laugh and a shake of the head. "Suit yourself." I know she'll get up and change later, this is what she does when she goes a little overboard in the drinking department. It's not like her little black dress was too confining anyways. At least, not in the leg area. Now ready for bed I walk over to it, again stumbling, before pulling back the covers to get in. Or trying to. "Santana, move your ass."

"If your bed was bigger you'd be able to get under the covers on your side even with-"

"Here we go," I mumble, as she slurs along but before she can really start to complain I pull the covers dramatically and watch her fall off the other side of the bed. This time I'm the one that can't help but laugh, climbing into bed all the while. Sure, the loud thump as she hit the floor is yet another thing to add to the 'pushing it' list but my bed is calling my name. There's this haze that keeps creeping up from the corner of my eyes and when I walk it feels like I'm walking on air, slightly unaware of my movements.

She finally sits up from the floor on the other side of the bed and her obvious glare soon fades into another lazy smile. Oh yeah, she is definitely drunk. I hold up the covers to invite her in and she obliges, and then I turn to take care of the lamp. Tomorrow will be one of the few days we _don't_ have Cheerios practice and I really hope we're not in for one of Sue's Sunday morning boot-camp surprises – the worst surprise known to man. If we are, then we are beyond screwed this time around. There isn't enough water and grease in the world to cure the hangover I know I'm going to have, and I have a feeling Santana will be so bitchy that she won't even be able to stand herself.

I lay on my stomach facing my nightstand as usual, taking in a few deep relaxing breaths as I prepare for sleep. Typically I'd be shivering due to my hair being soaked after yet another skinny dipping suggestion from Santana as we'd sneak through my backyard, but tonight she made no such suggestion. I'd like to think it's because she's aware of the time, but I know drunk Santana and time is of no concern to her. Pretty much like sober Santana unless Coach Sue is involved.

As the night had progressed at the party, I noticed her usual sultry stare shift into that oddly sweet smile she now keeps displaying. It was strange. Haven taken note of Santana's drunken inability to not check me out after tossing a few back many parties ago, this change through me off. It stirred something inside me. In the past, girls like her have only looked my way to insult me, or throw things at me. Among other things. Okay, so I looked a bit different then but still.

I remember the first night I really noticed that it was me she was always looking at with that stare, not all the other party goers. We were alone in my backyard just after Santana suggested we go skinny dipping. As I slowly unzipped my dress I looked towards her only to find her staring with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. I had just become accustomed to such looks from the opposite sex, having never really caught their attention before either, minus one very unfortunate looking boy at my old middle school. Though I would usually feel more like a piece of meat than flattered, noticing Santana looking at me that way felt...different.

No matter what their opinion of the fiery Latina, no one at McKinley can refute the beauty that is usually outshone by sass. If anything, that exact attitude that she presents only makes her _that _much more desirable. She's unattainable. This wild creature with rumored arrival. She is meant for the top and the fact that she looks at me, someone who's very familiar with the routines of the top bitches stepping on and or over those beneath them, as if I were a walking version of her most favorite delicious dish – Well, it makes me feel powerful. More powerful than I feel when any boy looks my way because their peckers have picked up a new signal. I feel predatory even, when my mind really takes in the full meaning of it all.

Turning my head so I'm facing her I can see her relaxed features as light from the backyard pool seeps through my curtains. She's asleep already, I can tell despite my haze which has only increased as I laid still. One of the things I don't like about drinking. Laying on her back with her head turned in my direction, I watch as her chest rises and falls. I picture that smile again, quickly followed by scenes of her grinning instead. For years I have dreamed of the day I would finally be respected and admired by the girl's who ran the schools I attend, and now here's Santana. A girl who is rumored to rise _before_ she even steps through the doors of McKinley High; a girl who doesn't take any shit from anyone; a girl that keeps her enemies closer; a girl who _knows_ she's the shit_. _And she has eyes for me.

Yes, it makes me feel powerful and as I lay beside her I feel the alcohol in my system grab this pride and power and push it to a new level. I've never felt so bold before and the lightness of my limbs as I move only fuels the fire. Moving to lay on my side and fully face her, shifting the covers as I move, I glance at the arm between us and the relaxed curl of the fingers at its end. Hands are used for worship all over the world within many religions and I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to be worshiped by such hands.

Religion popping into my head makes me hesitate but once again the alcohol in my system wins as I move my own hand to gently run my fingers up her arm, her slight shiver making the tips of my fingers vibrate. Shifting, her other hand suddenly swats my hand away and thinking for a moment she's about to wake up I start to move back. But her eyes never open. Instead, she turns onto her side and lazily drapes the arm of the hand that hit mine over my waist. My brow rises as she scoots a little closer, sighing softly, sending wafts of alcohol into my face.

I know we've cuddled before, there have been a few mornings after a party where I'd find myself tangled up with her, or feel her jerk awake and move away from me after putting her arm around me from behind during the night, but I've never been awake when it all started. I've never known what it feels like to be held, and the fact that it is Santana who's doing the holding – a gorgeous future head bitch who happened to also stand by my side throughout the summer despite me being new to the town of Lima – stirs something inside of me.

I feel like I have her in my grasp. Like all that is the new me has lured her in and now I have all the power to do whatever I want with her; I could crush her socially, which I've already considered multiple times but I don't stand a chance in rising to the top alone. A girl needs her minions. Though, I don't know if Santana actually qualifies as a subordinate. The point is, I'm in control and that's all I've ever wanted. To put _this _type of girl in her place – beneath me. She embodies them. All of them, wrapped up in a chaotic thorny bow.

My anger towards them and need to humiliate them rises within me like the vomit sure to come once my hangover hits. I'm no longer concerned with the fact that there's an actual person beside me as I wrap my arm around her waist, slowly running my hand up her back, stopping between her shoulder blades. She sighs and moves closer again, and I can't stop this wicked grin from spreading across my lips as she makes it all too easy. I know what she's most afraid of. I see it every time she catches herself watching me while she's sober, turning her head quickly in shame; I see it in the way she bites her lip as she watches me undress before we go for our usual swim; and I even see it now as she subconsciously tries to cuddle with me in her sleep.

I easily slide a leg between hers, hearing in the back of my mind the faint echos of "Lucy Caboosey" being shouted as I ran away from countless bullies throughout my life. Santana is one of those girl. Or well, she would have been if she would have known me then.

Ha, look at me now!

Pushing my thigh upwards, I shiver with an even higher sense of power as a quiet moan escapes her lips. Grateful for the bit of light from the pool creeping through my curtains, I watch her intently pushing up again, this time rolling my hips to add a sliding friction. I can't help but question just how much she had to drink as she continues to sleep, but my goal isn't to wake her just yet. That level of awkwardness will ruin my plans. No, I need her to stay asleep for a little while longer.

Repeating my movements I notice her lips slowly part, her arm's hold growing a little firmer around my waist. A slow and steady pace always wins the race. A saying I feel will lead to the ultimate win here. I may not know much about sex beyond the basic what goes where, but I do understand that friction is all either sex really needs to reach a certain...peak. Theoretically.

I can already feel the heat rising between her legs, and I move my hand back down to the bottom of her back to give a bit of encouragement, prepping myself for the endgame. I see now that she's not going to wake up, for all I know she's dreaming of me doing just what I'm doing and the thought spurs me on. I increase the pressure now, giving a slight push on the bottom of her back with my hand in time with the roll of my hips. Feeling a small twitch followed by an elaborate shiver from her, and I know it's time to go for the kill. Her brow is now creased. I push forward with obvious intent as I speed up the process. My pace is steady but strong, increasing step by step.

Her breathing starts to really change; quicker, shallow breaths escaping her parted lips and I know I'm close. The power is surging through me. I feel it within every inch of myself. All those days of crying alone in my room, drowning myself in whatever dairy product or slab of meat I could get my hands on starts to fade away, slowly being replaced with everything that I am now. It feels so good to have this control over her; to make her lose control of her own body, of herself.

And just as I'm sure all victory is mine, the arm around my waste pulls forward harshly; bringing our chests together. I'm sure she's about to rip my head off and I'm on the verge of panicking until I feel her grind herself against my thigh. She doesn't open her eyes, she simply moves the hand of the arm wrapped around me to my shoulder, gripping it hard. I know she's awake. I know why she won't open her eyes, and it's not because they're too heavy or because of how the friction between her legs feels either. It's because of _who _is doing it. Because it's me, Lucy Quinn Fabray.

We continue this and her moans and whimpers grow more frequent as her warm breath touches my lips, until she is no longer able to keep with the pace she obviously needs_ and_ wants. Somehow, this all makes me feel even_ more _powerful; like she's willingly submitting. Because she is. A low growl escapes me and I don't even skip a beat to wonder where the hell it came from as I push her onto her back. Propping myself up slightly on an elbow, giving me more leverage and space, I push even harder and faster.

It's now that I notice a slight dampness on my thigh and I subconsciously lick my lips in appreciation, reveling in my ability to excite her. I move my hand to push her tight dress up a little higher on her waist as she buries her face into the crook of my neck. She's starting to tremble, barely able to take in a good breath and I know I've done it. After raking her nails down my back I feel her abdomen arch up against mine and I press on at a furious pace until her breathing hitches and she lets out a strangled cry. Eventually, she finally lets out one hard breath followed by shorter ones and I slow to a stop.

My chest swells with pride and her body relaxes like freshly killed prey, but the feel of puckered soft lips on my neck shatters it all. I'm suddenly aware of my own harsh breathing, the way my limbs tingle, the throbbing between my thighs and my own dampness. I now feel overwhelmed by it all; the pounding in my chest, the way my skin tingles even more as the hand at the bottom of my back slides off of me. I push up on my elbow in one abrupt motion, my hand at her waist moves at its on accord to cup her face, letting my own eyes fall completely closed I lean down for a kiss that I'm now craving. But before my lips touch hers I feel something wet as I rub her cheek with my thumb. My eyes flutter open and just as they do she starts to breakdown.

This is what I wanted. What it had all been about, but now as I watch her crumble my chest aches. "Santana..." I continue to rub her cheek, struggling for words. "San...I-I." I'm so not prepared for this and for the billionth time I swear off alcohol in my head. "We were drunk. _Are_ drunk." I corrected. She finally opens her eyes and I see in their watery depths that this explanation, this excuse, is one that she can accept, so I nod and repeat it before saying, "It was nothing."

"Right. It was nothing," she echoes quietly.

I nod in agreement and move to untangle myself from her completely, the closeness a bit awkward now. She turns onto her side, facing away from me as she sniffs and wipes at her face. Then, I guess she notices that she's still in her dress because she gets up and goes through the same routine I went through earlier just as a few rays of sunlight replace the blue light from the pool. I watch her in silence, her back turned to me and feel disgusted with myself but not for the reason I know I should.

When she turns to get back into bed I look away, hoping that I wasn't too obvious in my staring. The bed dips and I hear a sigh followed by silence and then the faint sounds of cars signaling Lima's slow awakening. The alcohol is still in my system for sure and I know I'll have no trouble sleeping, and neither will she. For once, something to really appreciate about the so-called 'liquid courage'. My eyes slide shut and I wait for it to come.

"Could you..."

She sounds unsure of what she's trying to say and I'm wondering if it's going to be something like, 'could you not tell anyone about this', but I'm sure we both know that such words don't even need to be spoken. There is no way either one of us are going to risk our positions before we even work our way up to them.

"For once, I'd..."

Instead of finishing her sentence or even turning to face me she reaches an arm back behind her, and I feel even worse about what I've done. I scoot closer to her, pressing my back against her front, wrapping my arm around her waist. There are lots of rumors about Santana's sex life within the Cheerios circle, and I have no doubt the entire school circle as strata, but I'm the only one that knows about the dashing that usually follows. I'm probably the first person to hold her after any kind of sexual activity, and that urges me to hold her tighter. I did to her what those who hurt her most have done before; I used her. And she may never admit it, but I know that it hurts her.

I lay here, finally starting to drift off as the sun rises and wonder – How the hell did I end up here?

_Two months prior..._

**TBC**

AN: Reviews make me want to finish stories, so please do so I can. Also,I like to imagine the 'A' in San being pronounced as it is in Spanish, like the 'O' in mops used to mop the floor. Not 'A' as in sand that rhymes with and. And...this sex scene was not really meant to be SEXY, so please don't judge my smut capabilities on a scene not meant to be...well, smutty. Actual smutty goodness will come later.


	2. Not Like That You Aren't

Hello readers :) Here's the first official chapter after the introduction. I'd like to say thanks to the FIVE reviewers that managed to drop a few words – thanks! They were much appreciated, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Now, for those of you who were hoping to see what happened after the night in the introduction, sorry...it's time to back on up to answer Quinn's question. Just how the hell _did_she end up there? Enjoy, and drop a few words for me please.

Chapter Two: Not Like That You Aren't Pt. 1

I walk across the field with my head held high, ignoring a few catcalls from the football team. I know most of them are freshman anyways. I can tell by the way one of the oglers gets squashed like roadkill before the one that crushes him stands to take off his helmet and smiles in my direction. Too bad I'm not interested. This day isn't about getting the attention of the football team, this is about scoping out the competition and more importantly it's about reserving a right to the position I'll one day hold as a McKinley High Cheerio. Captain.

It's a gutsy thought coming from a freshman, I know, but I've been working my ass off just so I could hold such an attitude rightfully, and I intend to show off that fact today. For years now I've been spat on by the very people I'm passing on the field – the drooling jocks included. Do you know what it's like to know everyday you leave your house is just another day of torture and humiliation? Well, I do, and now I plan to make sure I never know that feeling again.

My mom being a former prom queen, I've always felt ashamed of not being the it girl at my schools. Coming home with ho-ho's in my hair instead of a gleaming tiara. Not that I was ever entered in a junior pageant, because that would mean that _everyone_ would see what an ugly duckling I was. My older sister Frannie – also a prom queen – looks like she just walked out of a swim suit magazine but classier, and my dad wasn't too bad looking in his day so when I was born...well, there was a shift in the family. There I was all auburn haired, chubby, and covered in acne with a hideous nose to boot. I've heard my father whisper about his Aunt Edna's bad looks coming from his great grandmother, and how I must have gotten them from her too.

But that's all in the past. As I make my way to the locker room to get ready for today's tryouts I can claim the Fabray family name proudly, knowing that I look the part. Now I just have to _be_the part. I need to rise to the top so I can not only follow in my mother's footsteps, but so I can also complete my makeover and guarantee that I'll never hear the words 'Lucy Caboosey' ever gain. I'm thin, my nose is gorgeous, and most girls would die to have my hair. I plan on using all these things to my advantage, along with my killer athleticism, so I'll finally be all that I've ever dreamed of being. If that means I have to step on a few heads to get there, I'm prepared for that too. Sort of.

The truth is, I don't know much about being a top bitch myself. Sure my sister gave an everyday live showing of the 'bitch act' before she left for college only to marry a good christian boy soon after, but I avoided that girl like the plague and I know she thanked god everyday that I never showed my face when her friends were around. If she could have, I know she would have even taken down all the family photos in our old house when she had company, but seeing that that wasn't an option she just told her friends that I was adopted. A lie that got my family extra 'social' points when not corrected while doing the opposite for me at school. If everyone would have known that I was Frannie Fabray's _actual_sister then they would have shown some respect but Frannie never told anyone the truth, and who the hell would have believed me over someone as gorgeous as her? I know for a fact that no one listens to the ugly girls.

So this whole being mean thing – totally new to me, but I've been practicing on the rare occasions that I've gone to the mall in town. Okay, so my only practice has been a few shitty looks I've thrown people's way but what else am I supposed to do? I can't just go up to people and be a bitch out in public. Those rights are reserved only for 'sacred grounds', also known as school grounds, where kids can be as nasty as they want without any real consequence. Suspension, as I've found out after the return of many of my bullies in the past, does nothing to cure one's need to belittle others. A need that I don't understand, but plan to adopt in order to keep myself from being a victim for the next four years.

It shouldn't be too difficult. All I have to do is throw out a few mindless insults with a straight face, and resist the urge to apologize immediately. Yeah...this is going to take a bit of work.

I walk into the locker room, finding it crowded. There are a few girls who were already on the team and in uniform, standing about laughing and gossiping about summer activities, while also gossiping about the summers of those who weren't there. Those who weren't Cheerios. More than a few eyes land on me as I make my way through the locker room, and it's not so surprising. I'm new in town and that means everyone will be watching and whispering, wondering what I was like and whether I was going to be a problem. And I plan to be just that so I keep a steely gaze, making sure to not make eye contact with any of them. This is a bitch trademark, not making eye contact with the people around you while keeping your head up. It suggests superiority. It's one of the things I picked up on when I was at the bottom of the food chain, and I know it to be a successful tactic.

Finding an empty locker on a row that isn't so crowded, I put my bag on a bench and go over my checklist again. Towel, cream to sooth muscle tightness, water, a change of socks in case of blistering –

"I hear Coach Sue is letting her show up late."

I look over as three unifromed girls round the corner to the row I'm on, noticing the other girls who were already on the row scattering in fear, leaving their lockers open and whatever they brought to tryouts out in disarray. This tells me something, whoever these girls are, they're in charge and their mere presence strikes fear. Part of me wants to approach excitedly in hopes of becoming friends with them, but I know that's not how this all works. First of all, you don't approach the top bitches, especially not with a smile and a wave – they will hate you just for that. Another thing I picked up on. So, I just go back to doing what I'm doing. Which will also make them hate me, I just know it.

"Wait," one of them says, crossing her arms. Her dark almost black hair is pulled back in a perfect ponytail, just like the other Cheerios. Her makeup is light, but noticeable, accenting her pale skin and bright blue eyes. "So, she's actually coming?"

"Yep," another one answered, going into a locker that has a pink sticker on it, her cherry blonde ponytail bouncing lightly. "Looks like the Lopez legacy won't be leaving McKinley just yet, and Coach is obviously trying to take advantage of that fact. This girl gets to be late to tryouts because her family vacation schedule conflicts, a privilege none of us would get to this day."

"I hear she's already on the team," the last girl finally spoke as she sat on a bench and lifted her hand to inspect her fingernails. Her skin color was a very light brown, showing mixed ethnicity and her ponytail had a few curls in it.

Both of the other girls froze, turning their eyes towards the girl who spoke last. "She doesn't have to tryout?" they both asked in unison.

"She can't be _that_good, she's a freshman."

At this, my brows rise. Hmm, top bitches worrying over the arrival of a freshman? I can't help but smile. This team is legendary, winning national champions for the last few consecutive years, so I expected to be blown away but hearing them worry about a freshman makes me relax a little. Like I said, killer athleticism here. Now really focusing back on what I'm doing in my locker, I grab what I need still with a smile on my face. If anything really, this Lopez girl was the one I need to worry about so I don't entirely dismiss their concerns. It just makes them less of a concern.

"You."

I pause for a moment, not even bothering to look in their direction before continuing with putting my stuff away. That is until the one with the bright eyes is suddenly standing beside me, pushing my locker closed with my fingers in danger of being caught. Typical.

"I'm guess you're talking to me then," I say under my breath with a sigh as I turn to face her. "Can I help you with something?" I match her crossed arms, looking up at her and with confidence.

"You must be new here," she says.

"What makes you think that?" I ask, knowing it's probably been a long time since someone stood up to this girl.

She looks me over. "Well for one, you didn't take the hint when all the other wannabes left."

I laugh. "I can see how hearing that you're afraid of some freshman's arrival could kind of kill your image." Grabbing my water bottle from the bench, and ignoring the glare from the mixed girl beside it, I move to walk around the taller girl with a menacing smile in place. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

The last thing I hear as I exit the row is a snobbish, "You think you're hot shit, don't you?"

I smile, knowing exactly that.

* * *

><p>Okay...so that didn't exactly go as planned. My whole body aches, and I can only groan in response to my mom's offer to rub some icy-hot goodness on my tight muscles. She says she's going to make me lunch first so I continue to make my way to my room, internally weeping as I climb the stairs. My room feels so far away and yet I can see the door so I push on. When I'm finally inside I collapse onto my bed, instantly loving the comfort of my pillow-top mattress. Sweet Jesus, that was only day one...<p>

Coach Sue is insane. No, seriously – the woman is crazy. Laps, drills, and obscene stretches were just the start and formation tactics were to be memorized as soon as she gave the order. Then there were the insults. Man does that woman know how to crush a girl. I considered taking notes but I quickly realized that her level of crazy is one that I'm not really trying to reach. No, I didn't fall flat on my face which is mostly obvious because I made it through the whole practice, automatically earning the right to come for the second day. But things didn't exactly go according to plan in the _other_department.

At one point Coach split us up into groups, placing the most promising looking newbies with the best Cheerios. You can already see where this is going, can't you? Of course I was placed under the rule and thumb of the top bitches, who I now know to be Stacey, Lacy, and Casey. I kid you not. And no, they couldn't fit the cliché anymore than they already do. There's the semi-nice but obviously not completely there Lacy, and yes...she's the blonde, though I suspect she's a fellow blonde in a bottle club member. Casey is the indifferent girl with an attitude, the one who sat down to stare at her nails in the locker room. Then there's Stacey. Stacey fucking Myers, the one who's decided to make my life a living hell.

"Lu—Quinn, sweetheart," My mom says as she enters the room. "I made one of your favorites, a turkey club with bacon of course. Chips on the side, not too much lettuce." Setting the plate on the bed, she grabs the cream as I sat up, pulling the plate into my lap and immediately diving in. "I remember coming home starving after grueling summer practices. This is only the beginning." She smiles.

I offer a forced smile, excited but exhausted at the thought. "Great," I say before taking another bite.

"I know it can all be a little," she paused, beginning to rub the soothing cream into my calves. "Daunting, but there's no harm in challenging yourself in order to become all that you can be."

"Mm hmm." This sandwich is delicious, I must admit. Sure Coach Sue gave us a recipe for whatever crazy shake she wants us all to drink, but that just doesn't sound better than this. I know what my mom is saying, she's going on and on about being so happy that I've decided to follow my dreams. And I'm happy about it too, just not as happy as I am about this sandwich right now.

"Before you know it, you'll be standing in front of your graduating class, adding another tiara to the Fabray family collection."

She's smiling a lot, and I get it. I really do. But that 'collection' she's talking about is intimidating as hell and I don't really want to think about that right now. "Mom, it's three years from now."

"You can never start preparing too early," she says happily. "You have to stake your claim now. People need to know who you are, what you stand for, and more importantly what you want."

I remember the days when me wanting something didn't mean crap, it's kind of hard to remember that I do actually have options now. For one, this Stacey pain in my behind will graduate in the spring. Music to my ears, let me tell you. The juniors seem kind of...weird. They're always standing in a circle holding hands and whispering to each other, and I don't mean in a maybe gay way. I mean in a cult kind of way where I expect them to bust out in a creepy chant at any moment. Their middle pyramid status makes sense, they only socialize with each other and a lot of the time they don't seem to be listening much which is weird because they get the formation right. If I wasn't almost positive that even Coach Sue looked a little freaked by them then I would worry about that, but I could see that Coach was probably wondering when the sky would go dark too.

The sophomores -

"Did you make any friends today?" My mom asks, disrupting my thoughts.

I shake my head. "Not really much time for that." I can see her brow crease as she watches her fingers intently. Having come back from my internal rant I now revel in the feel of it. Relaxing further back on my pillows as she starts to speak. I'm a bit more willing to listen.

"Quinn, sweetheart."

I'm thinking she's about to say something majorly deep because of this pause, and I sit up a little to make sure I can hear her when she finally speaks.

"No one likes a loner."

And there you have it, Judy Fabray once again being mother of the freaking year. "Thanks Mom, you can stop now." No, all my pains have not gone away but I can rub my own calves, I do it all the time after my early morning runs. A run I stopped taking once I got here, but now think I will pick up again. I hand her the plate and she does look a little shocked by me basically kicking her out, but I don't really care. Sometimes when she says things like that I just want to scream at the top of my lungs about how so unknowingly evil she can be. It's a good thing I'm not that over dramatic.

"Alright then, get some rest. Your dad will be home in a few hours and we'll have dinner a bit after that." After walking through the door, she turns back to me. "Oh, I almost forgot." She leaves the room and comes back pretty quickly, letting me know that she only went to the little table in the hall. "This came for you today in the mail, it's from Frannie."

"Huh?" That's about how far I can go in response to what she just said. She must be kidding, or I must have misheard her because there's not way Frannie Fabray sent me _anything_in the mail. She didn't even invite me to her wedding, Mom just insisted that she forgot to put my name on the invitation. Okay, sure.

"Open it." She smiles, handing it to me.

It's heaver than a normal letter in an envelope, I'm a little wigged out by my mom standing over me but the moment is already way above my usual experiences of pure weirdness. A letter, from my sister? It has my name on it above our home address and in the upper left corner is Frannie and her husband's address, in her ridiculously perfect hand writing. I open it quickly, pouring out the object first. It's her silver cross. The one she wore everyday that she concurred the halls of her old high school. After sitting in shock for a moment, I finally pull out the letter. "Stake your claim, Fabray."

* * *

><p>This time I started the morning off right. I woke up early to drink that disgusting shake, stretched, went for a little run, then I went through all the routines, and as much of the formations as possible. Once I was done with all that I listened to some music in my room and then headed out. Now as I walk across the field for the second time, not counting all the running across it yesterday, I feel like I'm more than prepared for the day. No, I know I'm more than prepared. I have the devil's cross around my neck, and the attitude to go with it.<p>

I enter the locker room, heading straight for the exact same row I chose yesterday. Stacey may have made sure I'd leave in pain yesterday, but she has no clue just how much I can deal with. Physical pain is nothing. You can push through it until your muscles take it all with ease, until your nerves no longer feel the need to warn you about an end that won't come. If she thinks that's going to stop me, she's got another thing thinking.

From the number of girls I also see on the row, I figure the evil trio has yet to make it.

"She's out there right now, didn't you see her?"

My ears perk at hearing that even these girls loved to gossip. This is the only way I get any info on the competition. And...it's semi-entertaining. This girl that's talking, she's a sophomore. The incoming freshman last year were so bad that no one made it, so this year a few of them are trying again. She's one of them.

"Leaning against Michael Teabags." Totally not his name, and if you're wondering how I already know about this guy, he's the starting quarterback and current boyfriend of Stacey Myers. The girl speaking now was apparently one of the many girls he toyed with last year. Mostly freshman. Again, I draw a few conclusions about last year's freshman and none of them equal competition. Instead I'm hearing a lack of brainpower and or dignity.

"I saw her." This girl is new, like me, but definitely not new to the area. She's related to one of the juniors. They're the only redheads on the field thus far. Coach is very picky with the gingers apparently, no orange hair or too many freckles. This girl's hair is actually red, not at all like the carrot tops most are used to seeing. "And I think everyone should start to keep an eye on their football playing boyfriends."

"Most of the senior players already know her," Casey says rounding the corner with Lacey in tow, leading to the usual scattering. Of course, I stand my ground as she continues to talk.

Checking herself in the mirror, Lacey "I hear she gave one of them a blow-job during that one party that Armando threw, the one when we-"

Casey laughed, opening her locker. "I totally remember that night. Stacey got so drunk that she threw up all over him before falling to hear knees in tears and-" She stops because she hears the little laugh I let escape, turning to me slowly. "Fabray, right?"

I'm kind of happy that she remembered my name, whether it's because she thinks I'm a potential threat or because she also wants to make my life a living hell, it doesn't matter. "That's me."

"I don't know what little town you came from, but here you're a nobody, and it's about time that you realize that." See, this is what happens when people assume things about you – they're wrong. I wasn't anyone where I came from either. "Lacey may be all words, but I'm not, and I don't appreciate you thinking you can just listen in on -"

"I'm going to go ahead and stop you." Yep, that was me, and she's just as shocked as I am really. "If you don't want people to hear that the three of you are _still_worried about this girl, then I suggest you discuss it in an area where people actually give a damn about you being a Cheerio, because I don't. All these other girls might be afraid of you, but because of 'little town' I come from, well – I'm not."

A slow grin spread across the girls lips. "For now."

Forever, and I know it. I've met girls like this plenty of times, and as I slam my locker and walk past her, I know that she won't be a problem. She's not even captain, for Christ's sake. She's just a groupie, which is even more pitiful. I'd like to see if she could stand on her own, without the posse she's a part of.

The weather is pretty nice today, and just as I'm about to stop to admire a few passing clouds – I can appreciate the beauty of nature – my eyes land on a girl talking to one of the football players. Talking is not really a way to describe it. She's whispering something in his ear, and I'm pretty sure I see her hand creeping up his thigh. This must be the girl. Dark haired, in uniform, of Hispanic decent...

"Lopez! If I see you fooling around with anymore of those –"

There's Coach, in her angered glory. This Lopez chick jumpes like she heard a gunshot, immediately turning away from the boy and quickly making it over to the other Cheerios. So, I'm guessing the rumors of promiscuity weren't too far fetched, and the ones I heard in the locker just now were in a list of many that I've heard so far. Yes, the three bitches continued to gossip about her yesterday, even as they tried to kill me with ridiculous drills and few water breaks. It's okay, today I'm hydrated and ready.

"Fabray," Stacey says, turning with a smile on her face as I join the group. "I guess I wasn't clear yesterday while I was torturing you – You aren't welcome here."

Scoffing, I look towards Casey who's smiling with her arms crossed. "Guess you came running to gossip about our little encounter." I pause, giving a small shrug. "That says a lot." And with that I kept walking past them, noticing a few shocked expressions. Please, I've seen worse girls than this. Namely, my sister of course. I touch the necklace around my neck and am reminded of the fact that surviving Frannie Fabray's rule means that I can survive anything.

As Coach begins to give the first instructions of the day, I let my eyes wander over to the only girl I haven't really gotten to scope out, and yep, I've been taking notes. She's standing with her arms crossed, while examining her nails – much like Casey does, which tells me a few things – I can tell she has one hell of an attitude. The indifference spread across those features tell me that she could care less about anything that's being said by her, whether she knows about the rumors or not. In fact, I'd guess that she may even embrace them to the point of confirming them on a regular basis. She's also one of the many girls I've seen over the years. They're all the same, bitches.

"Lopez," Coach says. "You're in Stacey's group."

Great.

**TBC**

Didn't mean for it to be a week before I posted another chapter, but school is hectic. It's the week before tests, and unfortunately school comes before my passion for writing. Hope you all enjoyed the first part of this one, sorry for any missed typos – I'm tired. Please review.


	3. Not Like That You Aren't Pt 2

Welcome back! Really sorry about the wait, it's time for midterms and then there's life so I got a little carried away in my thinking, 'I'll start it tomorrow'. Many thanks to "skella" and "xxsteffbrownxx", your reviews were wonderful and exactly what I needed to hear. I've never written in 1st person before, it's something new I'm trying out, and I'm enjoying it quite a bit so far. Also, thanks to "rawrmuffin466" and those who are favoriting, alerting, etc, it's good to see some people wanting to be reminded of when I publish something. Last but not least, to the reviewer who reviewed to point out a typo -.- I'm a one man band. Sorry. Enjoy and review!

Chapter Three: Not Like That You Aren't Pt. 2

I have a feeling this whole situation will turn out to be pretty great after all. I'm on my third lap of our final run of the day; a quick mile before we gear up to perfect the final formation drill. Well, before I gear up to perfect it. The others...well, I suspect that like most of my peers the average information retention rate of the other girls on the field is about twenty-four hours, max. Today's test, where endurance was yesterday's, is over the main formation. A formation which Coach Sue demanded none of the group leaders go over or mention while we were split up in groups. For the billionth time today I have a feeling my early rising to go through everything is going to pay off. Not that I ever doubted that my plan to be more prepared would work, I just wasn't expecting the obstacle that was Santana Lopez.

This is why I think this whole situation will be pretty great – her emanate failure. You see, at first I was a little worried, and like my evil group leader I had to continuously pull my jaw up off the floor as this Lopez girl surprised each of us by nailing every drill and formation. When we started stretching, and of course I was picked to be her partner since we've both been labeled as the 'insubordinate wannabes', I was sure she was going to wince and wail in pain but she did the complete opposite. And no, I'm not kidding when I say opposite.

As I pushed her leg up, watching her face for any signs of pain or discomfort as she lay on her back beneath me, she started making pleasure filled faces instead, which I knew was impossible because no one loved this stretch. I assumed that looked like expressions of pleasure had to be pain and continued on until I heard an actual moan. Hearing this, I froze. One, I was confused as hell because hello – I haven't been in many sexual situations myself. And by many, I mean none because I don't think Billy Spencer showing me his private parts in fifth grade counts. For multiple reasons. Two, this was a girl beneath me and that put this whole thing even further out of my realm of experience. It wasn't until she turned to smirk at a few football team stragglers that I knew what was going on. Me being me I jumped up in surprise, turning towards the football team as if defending my honor was suddenly necessary, but the ones who actually caught the show were suddenly tackled, prompting a gargantuan laugh from my partner.

When I glared at her for the whole thing she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she readied her other leg. "Your virginity is showing."

Unfortunately for the both of us Stacey's boyfriend was one of the drooling idiots and of course she noticed the whole thing and added a few laps to our already so lovely tryouts. Next were the drills, which consisted of the actual routines used during games and pep-rallies. This is when the jaw dropping began. To everyone's surprise Santana was able to nail each move after only being shown a few times. Sure, when she went through them they were more on the salacious dancing side of things, but that didn't take away from the fact that she got them. While most of the other girls continued to struggle with memorizing all the moves, there were two people who were trying out and actually impressing Coach. The problem – It should've just been one, and from the looks of things yesterday that would have been yours truly, but no. Some skanky loud mouth who had to let her presence be known.

The point is, Coach Sue's decision to take advantage of the Lopez bloodline was starting to look pretty good. As Santana went through the motions, I'll admit that I stood with the evil trio thinking of ways to destroy all that was Santana Lopez. Well, not _with__them_ but beside them with the rest of the girls in the group, mostly the sophomores. I suspect that a year of running their failure through their heads had them aiming to be a bit more prepared as well. Just a hunch. Back to Santana. I was trying to think of ways to destroy her already, remembering a few tricks my sister had up her sleeve back in her day. No, she and I didn't ever gossip about all of her subtly evil plots, but I did read her diary once.

It wasn't until our mid-point run that I started to realize that Santana had one crucial weakness in the realm of athleticism. Endurance. I know what you're thinking, yesterday I was a complete mess when I came home. Moaning and groaning over my aches and pains, stuffing my face with a delicious turkey and bacon club. But no one that made it to today's tryouts failed to make it to the end of day one, let alone struggled to make it through the halfway point. This was it, and when I turned to the evil trio I felt their grins were a reflexion of my own.

Now, it's the final run of the day before the main formation and needless to say...I'm in the lead. Where is Santana Lopez, you might ask. Well, over on the opposite side of the track she is currently being followed by one screaming Sue Sylvester. The best part, Coach has been yelling at her like this since we went through the drills. Which immediately followed our mid-point run. It feels good to know you're the best. It really does. I worked for this and so I deserve it, not some girl with genes on her side. I mean, she's already wearing a uniform for God's sake. Now she doesn't look so deserving of it.

I make it through my final lap, passing Santana and Coach Sue along the way. I'm barely able to catch the glare Santana sends in response to my grin, but I do and it only makes this moment even better. There's only one more task and I know I'll have absolutely no trouble getting into the main formation.

"Fabray!"

For the second time today, I freeze. Turning slowly, I watch as Coach Sue approaches me, towering over me like an angry giant. "Take this thing behind the bleachers and go over the main formation." She turns to walk away without waiting for any kind of response but then stops, slowly turning back to me. "Only show her once, Fabray."

This time she waits for a response. "Yes Coach."

"Great, now I'm in the prude ward," Santana huffs, bending over to catch her breath.

I consider responding with some sort of insult, but her current state is insulting enough. "Let's get this over with. Coach says I can only show you once." Walking away a bit, I take a deep breath and then turn already in the first position, but Santana is now leaning against the bleachers continuing her attempts in catching her breath. "This is pathetic."

"How 'bout you take that cross around your neck, and-"

"Don't bother. I promise, whatever you have to say won't do any kind of damage. We've only got a few minutes before the rest of the girls are ready to get started, and from the looks of things, your relation to Armando Lopez is about to mean absolutely nothing in about...five minutes."

"Hold up." Now she manages to stand up straight and approach me. "Whatever you think you've got going on here," she said, waving her hand in the air as if outlining my body. "Scares no one. How about you go back to whatever farm-"

"What is it with everyone assuming I'm a farmer's daughter?" I say cutting her off. "You may think that the uniform you're wearing is actually yours, but Coach just gave it to you to make you feel special so she can capture America the way the football team did last year, because of your brother. Your whole performance today was a joke. First, you're dancing like some hooker instead of showing respect to-"

"You're wasting your breath, just show me what you've gotta show me."

"Pay attention, I'm only showing you this one time. I'll consider it our goodbye." I can see her restraining herself, on the verge of coming at me, but I stand my ground, seemingly unaffected. I've never been in a fight before, so this isn't something I know much about. Cowering is plan A.

"Listen Mary-"

I roll my eyes at her reference to my 'obvious virginity', wondering if she realizes that she also could have just called me a prostitute who worshiped at the foot of a holy man. I feel like she would definitely be the _other_Mary. She's still talking, saying something about me not knowing anyone here and pissing off the evil trio will 'ends' me. Something about loners being losers. This is when I start paying attention.

"How about, instead of starting something you sure as hell can't finish," she says walking over to me and waving her hand in front of my face. "You show me the damn formation, and we let this go. From what I saw out there, we've both got three grade A bitches breathing down our necks, so starting a fight with another freshman is not going to happen. Especially not a freshman who no one here seems to know the name of. Get started."

I'm surprised, and sure she's tricking me. What bitch gives a girl an actual way out? None. This tells me to be cautious. I'll just keep it in the back of my mind that she probably is up to something and agree to this, for now. But I'm not convinced I won't have to start plotting to destroy her. "Fine. I'll go slow." Again she rolls her eyes so I know she took that as an insult. I'm not really sure it was, but it goes good with my new persona.

I go through the whole formation in slow, clear motions. Calling out the actual name of each move, because we're supposed to learn them all by the end of the week. If you make it that far. She's paying close attention, mumbling the names after I say them and letting her eyes roam to take note of every kick, stance, and angle. I'm sure that she's got it, because she immediately stands with her back to me and goes through them after saying it to herself a few times.

Finishing up in the final stance, because none of the girls trying out actually get to be part of the pyramid, I hear her sigh in satisfaction. She looks back over her shoulder and winks at me before saying. "Thanks Mary."

As I walk back on the field a few steps behind her, I see all the other girls who are trying out and the Cheerios who are there rounded up in front of Coach Sue before they disperse and go to their positions. "Start on the left side. Your left," I say nodding in that direction as I move to walk beside her.

She keeps her eyes on the field. "Thanks, but I got that by the way the formation starts."

"I just don't want Coach to blame me when you get knocked on your ass after colliding with another Cheerio on step one," I say in a cool tone. I hear her scoff beside me and go to my position, getting into the first stance like everyone else. Knowing where she is, I look to my left where Santana is and raise my brow in a challenge. The smirk she wears tells me the message is clear.

I expect her to fail. Sure, she can do it on her own, but can she keep the count with Coach Sue and also be aware of a few girls out here who are about to crash and burn, taking down a few around them as they fall. Coach Sue doesn't care if someone gets in your way, she expects perfection. Something I happen to be working towards. Things get started, the tempo being kept loudly by an obnoxious clicking machine. The music during practice doesn't start until you're at an actual practice, right now she just wanted to see if you could go through the motions, not if you had actual rhythm.

A few girls are falling out a fourth of the way through, tripping up and then looking around confused. There's a yell that tells them to get out off the field, and as others start to mess up, some knocking over others as I predicted, Coach kept the insults going. Amazingly enough, Santana Lopez is still on the field as we round out and switch positions to go into the second half of the whole routine. She gives me a look that tells me that she plans to at least try to be what I presumed she would be before her humiliating run earlier. Trouble.

This is it. The girls who are already Cheerios do a few crazy flips as the bottom of the pyramid begins to come together behind me, left and center. I can hear them counting furiously, Stacey Myers' voice almost as loud as Coach Sue's. This is serious, and from the level of things going on right now on the field, I suspect that what we're doing is a bit dangerous. But the girls behind me mind as well be professionals, because no step is missed. Each count is counted, each clap is clapped, each flip makes it across in time.

But then something is going wrong. Lacey, who is a twirler of sorts always comes back to center to join the pyramid. She's on time, but her line seems a bit off. When I see her send a wink to someone behind me, I look back to catch Stacey send a nod to the other girl as the pyramid starts to pile upon itself, group by group. It's slight, but I see it when I turn back. The slight inch to the right. Lacey does one final flip as she's running to the pyramid behind me and as soon as she lands it, a subtle arm raise hits Santana and that's it. She's down.

I'm guessing this is mostly about Stacey's drooling boyfriend than trying to make Santana seem unfit to be on the team, because I'm sure they're all a little less worried after watching her fail on the track. What is up with girls stabbing each other in the back over a bunch of idiot jocks? I know dating a football player gets you major points, but they're all just so...dumb here, and they're jerks.

With my hands in the air, I take deep breaths as we all freeze in the final stance. There's this air on the field that I can only equate with complete confidence and pride. Each and every one of us left out here just nailed that formation, despite the grueling day it has been for those of us who were under the rule of the three top bitches of the school. I should have suspected that they'd take care of Santana. There was never any need for me to even worry about ruining her. Those list of ideas weren't that great anyways, to be honest.

Coach is back to yelling at Santana, admitting that she only let her on the team because of her last name, and that if she doesn't step it up a notch she won't be on it. Coach also mentions the obvious sabotage on the field, but then points out Santana's fooling around with the football team, leading to the whole team not liking her. Well, that's basically what she's saying but in a crazier way. I wonder where she gets all those crazy analogies from.

All the girls trying out come together to sit on the track hearing the final word as a few girls got cut. Out of all the ones that messed up, Santana's the only one who isn't told to leave, and by the look on her face she knows why. But more than anything, I can see the anger behind the look that she sends to Stacey, Lacey, and Casey who are standing a few feet away. Coach dismisses us and walks away angrily despite our great drill, so all the girls who made it and the resident Cheerios start to head towards the locker room.

As I gather myself, I notice Santana stand slowly, keeping her eyes on the three teens who made it known today that they plan to take her down. There's sort of a crowd of girls around us, some of them chatting as they walk slowly, but I can see that Santana's up to something because she's waiting for Stacey to pass her. I think maybe she's going to say something, maybe even start a fight, so I watch closely. Really, I'm wondering if she's actually be foolish enough to start a fight that will definitely lead to her getting kicked off the team, but what I see instead is Santana subtly sticking a foot out. Next I hear a yelp as black hair flies forward with Stacey's body.

When everyone turns to see what happened, Santana has already managed to somehow put a few girls between her and Stacey. I'll admit that my mouth is hanging wide open right now, I'm in complete shock. On the ground, Stacey is groaning as she rolls onto her back before sitting up and reaching for an ankle. I look at it and see that it doesn't look quite right.

"It looks broken," someone yells.

"Holy shit," I say looking to Santana as her lips form those same two words. Her eyes meet mine and we hold each others' stare as people swarm around Stacey until no one in the back can really see her anymore. I can tell that Santana knows that I saw the whole thing, but she is pretending to stand strong behind what she just did, as if she isn't afraid of getting kicked off the team. But I know she is.

I can't believe she just did that. For one, I could never imagine having the guts to try to take someone out of the game like that. Second, I'm not bold enough to purposely endure Coach Sue's wrath. For some reason, I hear my mother telling me that no one likes a loner, quickly followed by Santana telling me that no one knew my name - though I know the evil trio does. I think of the fact that those three travel together at all times, all of their personalities combining to strike fear in their fellow students hearts. Frannie also used to have a posse of sorts, and whatever she couldn't or wasn't willing to do (which wasn't much), one of the other girls would do it.

When Coach is suddenly back outside with a look of pure rage on her face, pushing some of the girls out of the way, I walk over to Santana. I can hear that no one knows what happened, and I know she can to as she crosses her arms as if to say, 'Do it, I dare you.' But that's not exactly what I've got in mind. Like she said earlier, there's no point in fighting another freshman.

"I saw what you did," I say, keeping eye contact with her.

"And?" she throws back.

As usual, she's taking what I'm saying as some kind of attack. "You were right earlier when you said there's no point in us fighting each other." She eyes me suspiciously, and I continue. "Let's just admit that outside of your lack of endurance, you and I are the best girls trying out. We're in the best group, and we both know all the drills, formations, and routines that have been presented so far."

She rolls her eyes. "Get to the point, Mary."

"We should work together." She laughs slightly, but I ignore it. "We can help each other. You know a few things about this place that I need to know since I'm new, and I know a way to help you with your endurance problem. I can see that you're willing to do anything to get to the top, and so am I, so we'll be seeing a lot of each other for the next four years either way."

The crowd breaks apart as an ambulance team is suddenly on the field, and I look over to see Santana wearing a grin that's just contagious. There's no way Stacey Myers will be a problem tomorrow, maybe not for a few weeks. Months even. Day one and Santana takes out her main enemy, who happened to also be a problem of mine as well...It would be good to have someone like her by my side. My mom was right, no one likes a loner. More than that, no one respects a loner. Well, not unless they can beat you up, which I don't think I fit into that category.

"Fine," she finally says. "But don't think that this makes us friends, 'cause-"

I start to walk away, not caring about what she has to say and bored with the whole Stacey situation. "We can go over the details later."

* * *

><p>Deciding to get started right away, last night I found Santana on Facebook and sent her a message, without requesting her friendship. I don't really want access to Facebook stalk her, so there was no need for all that. I told her to wake up at 4:30am and to make sure to drink that disgusting shake Coach wants us to consume everyday. 4:30am is a bit early, but try outs start at 7:00am, so we'd need to get busy by 5:00am. I told her we'd be going for a quick jog, much shorter than the one I went on yesterday morning, and then go through the routines and whatnot before taking a moment to relax and regroup. Of course, she had a problem with waking up that early, but I seriously...it's only for three days and obviously the reward is worth a little sleep deprivation.<p>

Surprisingly, Santana doesn't live that far from me so I decide to jog there instead of riding my bike. I wasn't going to ask my mom to drive me, even if I'm sure she'd be more than excited about my new 'friendship'. It's a bit early for all of that, and I'm still not convinced that Santana won't try to undermine me at some point. Conniving bitches can never be trusted. The weather is pretty nice this morning, and I have a feeling it's going to be an above average tryout day without Stacey Myers there. It'll be interesting to see how the two groupies act without their vicious leader.

Finally rounding the corner onto the street she lives on, I find myself passing some high bushes and approaching a pleasant looking two story home, with a navy blue door. There are a few trees around the house, and I suspect even more in the backyard from what I can see. There is a black Lincoln SUV and a four dour BMW, and I notice an oil spot behind one of the cars. I suspect Armando's spot.

Before I reach the door, Santana comes jogging out towards me in some shorts and a sweatshirt, her hair is up in a messy bun and she has sunglasses on. "Mary," she says, coming to a stop.

I look over her shoulder at her house, which no it's not the Fabray residence, but it did look rather homey in the nice and expensive way. She looks over her shoulder to see what I'm looking at and then turns around, questioning me with a frown. "Now every time you decide that you're the next Jenny from the block, I'm just going to picture this house." Her 'ghetto' grammar is so misplaced.

"Oh whatever, Mother Teresa. If your crazy ass plan to actually workout before tryouts backfires, I will ends you."

I turn around began to jog away from her house. "If it's going to backfire for you, it'll backfire for me too."

"Unless you secretly ran marathons around the pasture back home. Counting sheep must have a completely different meaning for you," she says as she starts to jog beside me.

Ignoring her attempted quip, I look over at her to check her form. Sometimes people jog and run in weird ways that can hinder their ability to push through any discomfort that may occur."I hope you stretched like I told you."

"I know to stretch before exercising."

The jog goes smoothly. We don't do much talking, and Santana only slows down for a moment. A moment in which I criticized her breathing technique that she insisted always worked for her in the past. After pointing out the failure that was yesterday's running time for her, she dropped that ridiculous thought. From that point on things went smoothly. We passed the local elementary school, which Santana apparently went to. I could see her attitude fitting a bit more now, but not really. They split the district in half for elementary kids, and because they wanted her to be more exposed to other people of their heritage, which was the difference between the two schools. One school had the trouble makers, the other had the spoiled brats. Now Santana was a combination of the two.

We make it back to her place and go over all the routines, drills, and formations that we went over yesterday. Once we're all done I know it's time to head back so my mom can give me a ride to tryouts. Santana doesn't offer to let me ride with her out of convenience, which I would actually expect from her but I still find it rude. "I'll see you there," I call out as I jog away from her.

**TBC **

Sorry for any missed typos, it's a busy weekend for me here. Please review, it will inspire me to avoid homework to write instead! :)


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